


Flames

by agendercastiel (natasharielee)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst and Feels, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natasharielee/pseuds/agendercastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the tributes for the 74th Hunger Games are selected, no one expects that the political climate is about to change drastically. Then again, other than the Careers, the tributes are nothing special. However, faced by verbal bombshells, unconventional romances, and painful coincidences, both the Capitol and the districts are forced into confronting their views on a multitude of sensitive topics. Panem will be changed forever.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>On hiatus, but i will come back to this eventually! I just have school and other <strike>much better</strike> fics and family stuff, so i hope you understand!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reapings

**Author's Note:**

> This story does not follow THG canon, Katniss does not exist and it is just like any other Hunger Games (or is it?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to reformat this entire. Fucking. Fic. So here have the original first two chapters plus John's reaping (that i typed up in about half an hour haha)

Sherlock awoke with a small yawn and rubbed his eyes. He looked around the small house and eyed his sleeping family before realisation hit him. _It's reaping day._ It didn't really matter to Sherlock though, because he had calculated long ago that the largest chance he'd ever get of being reaped was one in twenty thousand. He was fourteen that year, and his three entries were ridiculously little compared to other boys his age.

By the time Sherlock had dressed in a simple yet smart suit, his entire family was awake. His mother started up the food maker and the four of them waited for breakfast. Sherlock had guessed, no, _deduced_ that it would be bacon and eggs before it was even half done. Consequently, he was forced to wait impatiently for the food, with nothing to occupy himself. To pass the time, he listed the names of every fourteen year old boy in the district in his mind palace, even though they were all idiots.

After breakfast, Sherlock went with his family to the square in the middle of District 3, beside the town hall. He allowed the Peacekeepers to take his blood sample before quickly joining the small crowd already gathered there, waiting for their district's escort. _Anderson,_ Sherlock thought, _that's his name._ The crowd was tense, and they ought to be, considering the number of times some of them had applied for tesserae.

"Welcome to the _reaping_ of the seventy-fourth _Hunger Games_!" Anderson exclaimed loudly, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Anderson acted as if District 3 didn't have the technology for a microphone. He continued and Sherlock's ears started to hurt, just like every year when he gave the district his ignorant opinion. "Such a _great_ honour to be here today, and to see _all_ your happy faces. Aren't we _so_ excited for the Hunger Games?" Sherlock couldn't resist rolling his eyes again. Just get on with it already, he thought. Then we can all go home and watch people kill each other. Fantastic.

"Alright, let's start with the _girls_ first, shall we?" Anderson said, and you could almost hear the entire congregation suck in a breath as he reached into the glass ball and pulled out a name.

"Molly Hooper!"

Sherlock was glad. He thought Molly was annoying and scarily similar to himself, with the exception of her presence of emotions. With her gone, Sherlock would be able to focus on his work without Molly and her scientific theories following him around. Unless, by some miraculous twist of fate, she survived the Games. However, the other boys in the district seemed to have contrasting opinions. Some of them gasped and Gavin Lestrade started to tear up. Well, his name was actually Greg, but Sherlock didn't know that, and didn't care. He was Molly's boyfriend, and romance was human error in Panem.

"And now for the _boys_! Oh, isn't this _so_ tense!"

Sherlock wished the idiot would just shut up and get on with it.

"William Holmes!"

He had to think for a few seconds before it clicked. William was his first name and he was in the Hunger Games.

His mind was spinning as a billion thoughts ran through it.

_What about Mycroft, Father and Mother?_

_Now Molly's going to be in the same arena as me. I'll have to fight for my life with that annoying girl who, coincidentally, loves dead bodies. Wait till she becomes one._

_And do I join the Careers or stay on my own? Obviously staying alone would be the obvious choice, but I could use the Careers' resources until it's just us left. I could probably set up a good trap._

_The tributes from 1 and 2 are huge._

"Come on up, William!" Anderson shouted.

Sherlock almost groaned at his enthusiasm. He walked up to the stage and immediately turn to the escort. "Call me Sherlock, please," he told Anderson. He, unsurprisingly, didn't seem to understand. _Capitol people._

Sherlock scanned the crowd and found Mycroft. His face, as usual, was an unreadable, emotionless mask. Except Sherlock thought he saw tears in Mycroft's eyes, but he decided that couldn't be right. Mycroft never showed emotion, and Sherlock doubted he would even shed a tear when he died a gruesome death. Sherlock didn't even dare to entertain the possibility that he might win the Games, lest he disappointed himself. _Well_ , Sherlock thought, _I wouldn't be around if I were disappointed anyway. I'd be on some Capitol aircraft that picks up dead bodies._ He knew Mycroft would want to do something about this, but he was 21, so there was no way he could help.

Anderson reached for Sherlock's hand and he grudgingly obliged. The escort held Molly's hand as well and raised his hands above his head. "Ladies and gentlemen, the District 3 tributes of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"

* * *

 

John took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles as the escort greeted the crowd. He knew he had to get into the Games this year. He was already 18 this year, so it was his last chance, and if he didn't make it he would regret it his entire life. Personally, he would rather die at 18 than grow old never having participated in the Games.

"Ladies first!"

The escort barely had time to finish her sentence before she was drowned out by the sound of hundreds of footsteps. One thing John loved about District 4 was the enthusiasm. Every single teenager loved the Games. Even the twelve-year-olds volunteered. _Or tried to._ Many of them were too slow and the older teens usually made it to the stage first. Still, John admired the fact that they tried.

Now, it was his turn to. He watched as the Peacekeepers shoved the girls away, leaving only the strongest to fight against each other for the honour of participating. A few screams were heard and there was a loud crunch as one of John's schoolmates fell off the stage. Finally, after much tense watching and waiting, there was one girl left. Janine Hawkins. The escort smiled uncomfortably and invited Janine to stand beside her (which, in all fairness, was a rather dangerous spot). Then the moment arrived.

"Now for the boys!"

The moment he had heard "now", John had started sprinting. As he ran faster than he had ever run in his entire life, a thought occurred to him. _District 4 has come to a point where our escort doesn't even try to have a proper reaping any more._ John grinned. And tripped.

_Fuck_ , he thought as his knees buckled. Using his hands to support him, he pushed himself off the ground as quickly as he had landed. John didn't care if his knee was scratched or bleeding, his only concern was getting to the stage before anyone else. When he got to within two metres of the stage, he leaped. John fucking leaped for his life. And he landed with a loud thud on the stage, probably breaking a bone, but he didn't give a shit. He felt a strong force against his chest and he knew he had to resist. John lowered his head and braced with his elbows faced front, smirking when he heard the kid in front of him shout in surprise. He kicked the kid in the groin and pulled him off the stage by the arm. He continued for God knew how long, but finally reached the front of the small crowd.

John knew that he'd probably given a few boys permanent scars, but he considered it part of training. After all, what was getting into the Games if it didn't involve some sort of brutality, right? Panting, he shoved a Peacekeeper aside and stood proudly beside the escort. John smiled proudly as he watched all the weak boys limp their way back to their age group. He couldn't resist winking at Harriet when he spotted her. He had finally made it.

"The District 4 tributes of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"

John fucking Watson had made it into the Hunger Games.

* * *

 

Dean was nervous, that year even more so than the last three. Because that year, Sam was 12. And that meant he was eligible for the Hunger Games. Dean imagined his little brother struggling in whatever devious arena the Capitol could come up with this time, and he had to close his eyes in pure fear. He would die. Dean knew he should be more worried about his own entries in the stupid reaping ball, but he couldn't help it. Sam was basically his entire life. His priority. Dean would do anything for Sam. And in that moment, Dean was genuinely afraid. He knew that everyone in the district had seen the District 1, 2 and 4 reapings, and, being Careers, the chosen tributes looked really scary. The boy from 1 might as well be a giant. So if Sam got chosen, Dean would have to volunteer. With those tributes in the arena, he knew he might not even survive the initial bloodbath. But because he had to protect Sam, nobody, not the Peacekeepers, not the Capitol, and definitely not Sam, would stop Dean from doing everything he could to make sure Sam was safe.

"Hello citizens of District 7, and welcome to the reaping for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games!" the shrill voice of the district's escort broke Dean out of his reverie. Thankfully, she went straight to the proceedings, and drew the name of some girl Dean didn't recognize. Celeste Middleton. It didn't matter anyway since she was probably going to die. Pity, Dean thought, she's sorta hot.

Then it was time for the boys, and Dean found himself shaking. As the escort reached into the reaping ball, he told himself that he would volunteer if Sam got chosen, no matter what. But a little voice nagged at the back of his mind. _Dean, are you sure you want to do this?_ it said. _How can you be sure you'll survive?_ But he barely had time to consider this, because the escort pulled a name from the ball and confirmed his worst fears.

"Sam Winchester!"

Dean actually paused for a moment out of shock. However, somehow, he quickly regained his composure and shouted, "I volunteer!" as loudly as he could. That wasn’t very loud, considering his throat had dried up in fear. Dean felt his legs shaking beneath the weight of his body as he made his way up to the stage slowly, then faster as he realized he might fall at any moment. He stood on the stage, heartbeat fast, and his eyes quickly found Sam all the way at the back of the crowd. There were unmistakeable tears in his eyes, even from that distance. Then Dean thought he saw Sam mouth a single word.

"No."

Dean was undone. He had to try his hardest not to cry in front of the crowd. He knew he had to give a good impression to the viewers, especially if he wanted to get sponsors in the arena. Thankfully, the district's escort leaned over and whispered, "Brother?" in what was probably the most comforting voice she could muster. Dean nodded slowly, feeling like he might break down at any moment. The escort smiled, a sad kind of smile, and then grabbed his hand and the girl's, and lifted her hands above her head.

"This year's District 7 tributes of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"


	2. The Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Dean's bit in this chapter was nicknamed "the sad crying part" in my first few drafts. *evil laughter*

As much as Mycroft tried to deny it, he was disappointed, and he knew his parents were as well, possibly scared even. He had never expected Sherlock to live a long life, he’d always thought his little brother would get into trouble with some Peacekeepers or the like, but he’d never given a single thought to the possibility that Sherlock would get chosen for the Games.

But there they were. In the town hall, waiting outside a small room for the Peacekeepers to let them in so they could say goodbye. Goodbye. For Mycroft, goodbyes had never held any negative connotations. The negativity only came from emotion and weakness.

 _Is it possible that this twist of fate, this unlucky chance, has made me, or us, weak?_ The thought repelled Mycroft, so he pushed it out of his mind. The Peacekeepers opened the doors and as Sherlock walked in, Mycroft thought about the very real possibility that he would never see Sherlock in the flesh again.

"3 minutes."

"Bad luck, huh," Mycroft said.

Sherlock shook his head. "Chance. There's no such thing as luck."

He was still as stubborn as ever. Then Mother asked the dreaded question.

"Do you think you'll survive?"

Sherlock swallowed hard. Mycroft could almost see the gears whirring in his brother’s mind as he calculated the possibilities. Mycroft would have done so, too, but he didn't want to think about how Sherlock would probably die.

"Almost definite certainty of death. Small chance of success."

Then the room went ominously silent. Suddenly, no one could think of anything to say. Sherlock broke the silence.

"Will you sponsor gifts for me?"

Mycroft hadn’t thought of that. He looked to his parents, and Father said, "Possibly, given the circumstances and whether others are willing to donate."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully and the silence returned.

"Alright, Sherlock, when you first see the arena, observe the Cornucopia. Pick out the most useful and practical thing there is. When the gong goes, pick that item up as fast as you can, then get away. You don't want to get caught in the bloodbath." The boy nodded. "I'm not sure about your tactics, but maybe you could appear to be weak. Make the other tributes underestimate you. An average training score would be good." Mycroft could see Sherlock slowly taking this all in and locking it somewhere in his mind palace.

"Time's up," he heard one of the Peacekeepers say, and Mycroft got in two words before they closed the doors: "Good luck."

And he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard his brother mumble, "Chance."

* * *

 

"I'll win this for you, Harry. I promise."

John had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. He'd tried for seven years to get this chance, and he wasn't going to blow it by dying. Harry suddenly spoke up.

"You know how Mum and Dad always talked about soulmates?" John nodded. "Imagine if you met your soulmate in the arena."

"Well, she'd die anyway," he said and laughed.

But it wasn't a real laugh. Because that would be sad. She, or _he_ , would be dead by the end of the Games. John would have spent a maximum of a week with his soulmate. Or worse, he might have killed his own soulmate.

"Harry."

"Hm?"

"If I did meet my soulmate in the arena, I don't want to have to kill them to win. What do-"

John was about to ask Harry for advice, but the Peacekeepers dragged her away with a small mumble of, "Time's up." The only thing John managed to hear Harry say was an unhelpful "John, I-"

Then he was left alone in the room, silence hanging in the air. He felt like the quietness might burst his eardrums. John sat, alone with his thoughts, and they were thankfully loud. He wondered what Harry was going to say.

_I love you? I need you?_

The escort entered and signalled for him to leave the room. John followed her out and into the train that would bring him and Janine to the Capitol.

* * *

 

Dean hugged Sam when he walked in, and to his relief, Sam hugged him back. He had been slightly worried Sam would be mad at him for volunteering. But if Sam wasn't angry, someone else definitely was.

"Dean, why the _hell_ did you do that?" John shouted.

Dean tried to keep his voice as calm and steady as possible, and explained, "Sam's twelve. He wouldn't have a chance in the Games. I mean, have you seen the Career tributes? At least if I'm in the Games, I have a chance. I'm fifteen." Dean saw his father hesitate and added, "Anyway, it's over now. I'm in and there's nothing you can do about it."

John considered this and nodded reluctantly. "Then I guess we should sort out some tactics, yeah?" he said, and Dean could swear there was a tone of regret in his voice.

"Train hard. Make the Careers want to team up with you. If you get a good training score, first thing you want to do in the arena is to get food, and a few weapons to hold off until you can get to them and convince them to let you into their group. If you get an average training score, they probably won't want to team up with you. So try to appear weak. Remember I told you about Johanna Mason from a while back? Be like her. Maybe form an alliance with someone agile. When you get to the arena, scan the items there. If there's anything useful, go for it quick then scram. If the things are crap, don't bother risking it. And most importantly, don't get distracted by anything. In the second Quarter Quell, the arena was beautiful. Everyone got distracted except the District 12 kid. He ran straight for the Cornucopia, grabbed some weapons, and left. He won that year. Against 47 others. So make sure you're not distracted." Dean took a deep breath and nodded.

"Are you gonna die?" Sam asked.

"I- I don't know. I'll try not to, okay Sammy?"

"What if you die?"

Dean's breath was shaky as he tried to assure Sam, and himself. "Dad will take care of you, don't worry."

Sam started crying and fell into his older brother's arms. Dean hugged him and started to sing a song their mother used to sing to them before she died.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Sam joined in, his tears wetting Dean's shirt.

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_

_You were made to go out and get her_

_The minute you let her under your skin_

_Then you begin to make it better_

The boys sang softly to each other, and even John started singing along. Dean held Sam close and kept singing until the Peacekeepers took Sam and John away. Dean heard Sam singing even though he was already outside, and he continued along as if Sam could hear him. Then the escort came to bring Dean to the Capitol train, but he kept singing softly, like he would never leave if he never stopped.


	3. The Train Rides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's finally here!!!!! This is me being an evil writer and making you guys wait ehehehehe

Sherlock sat in the train, staring out the windows at the world speeding by. It made him reflect on his life, albeit short. He realised he'd never really cared about anyone, with the possible exception of Mycroft and his parents. Sherlock sensed Molly coming before she spoke and his thoughts were cut short.

"Hey."

"What do you want?"

"Uh, nothing. I just thought... maybe you would want to talk since... we're going to die soon?"

"It's good you know that. Our district's last victor won... 16 years ago."

"I'm surprised you remember the exact year."

Sherlock glared at Molly before speaking. "I remember a lot of things. More than you, for sure."

"I'm sure you have a remarkable memory," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"If you want me to, by some chance or lack of common sense, help you in the arena, you'd stop being such a ridiculously unappreciative imbecile and accept my superior intelligence in comparison to yours," Sherlock snapped bitterly.

Molly recoiled, then seemed to make sense of what he said and nodded. "So, you don't have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine."

"So, boyfriend?"

"No, emotions make one weak."

"No one to miss you, then."

"I have my parents and Mycroft."

Molly cleared her throat awkwardly before smiling and nodding subtly. She was about to walk off when Sherlock spoke up.

"But you have Gavin."

Molly turned around.

"Y-yes. Greg."

Sherlock swallowed in slight embarrassment while tears started welling up in Molly eyes and Sherlock almost rolled his own eyes.

"But I'm probably going to die in the arena, I know that already. So when we said our goodbyes I... told him to find someone else."

Sobs worked their way out of Molly's throat and tears streamed down her face.

"Can... can I hug you?" she asked Sherlock.

_Why would she want to?_

_I hate hugs._

_She needs support._

_She's annoying._

Sherlock argued back and forth in his mind before he quickly settled on an agreement to a short hug. Molly muttered a word of thanks and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was surprisingly warm, but her tears wet Sherlock's shirt and he shifted uncomfortably. She sniffled and raised her head, wiping the tears off.

"Thanks," Molly mumbled and Sherlock only nodded in acknowledgement. "I guess I should go now," she said and walked off, leaving Sherlock alone with thoughts of Greg, Molly and the arena.

* * *

 

John mostly stayed by himself in the train until he went to get some food and bumped into Janine. It was an awkward first interaction between them, filled with sidestepping and uncomfortable laughter, and John quickly took his food and left. He munched slowly on the food and wondered about the endless possibilities of this Games. The other tributes could do anything. The arena could be completely dry, or full of water. There could be hounds, giant spiders, killer trees, anything.

Then John was suddenly weighed down by the chance that he might not win the Games. It turned into a dull ache in his chest and he turned his thoughts to something else.

_Imagine if you met your soulmate in the arena._

John's throat tightened. He hadn't really put much thought to this. What would he do though? Kill? Ally? Trick? He fell asleep to the dozen options running through his mind and the sound of the train on the tracks.

* * *

 

Dean tried flirting with the girl. Anything to get his mind off his impending doom. He found out that though her name was Celeste, she preferred to be called Charlie, and both her parents were carpenters. Other than that, she was a tough nut to crack, and she made it very clear that she had **no** notion of romance between the pair.

So Dean thought about Sam. Bad idea. He started choking up and spotted the look of concern on Charlie's face. Obviously she had to be somewhat concerned about the welfare of _that guy from her district who just randomly started crying._ Dean had to assure her that he was perfectly fine and "it's just a bit of nerves". Unfortunately, she saw through his guise.

"What's really wrong?"

"It's just..." _Should I tell her?_ "I have a little brother back in 7..."

Recognition flashed across Charlie's face.

"Sam Winchester."

Dean nodded solemnly and had to choke back tears. He realized that Sam would probably never see him again. Dean Winchester, against 23 other tributes? And at least six of them had trained all their lives for this.

"I'll never see him again."

"You never know. Anything could happen. An alliance with the Careers, a sponsorship, some smartass kills any serious competition, literally anything."

Somehow, Charlie's words made Dean feel calmer. Calm, in the most amazing sense of the word. Calm, like hugging Sam. Calm, like the feeling that his mom was right there beside him. _Calm, something I should not be feeling considering that I have a 97 percent chance of death._

However, despite this, Dean fell asleep on Charlie's shoulder, the fatigue and angst of the past few hours trumping his pain.


End file.
